Page 31 of Decked, Wrecked and Pucked
“I’m getting her to bed,” I say, already moving. “I don’t trust her not to try and fuck one of you, and I definitely don’t trust Jasper with his dick anywhere near her right now.”
“Hey, I heard that!” she snipes back, still laughing. “But I promise I’d never try to take any of you…” Her eyes glaze over. “I’d be more than happy to just watch because you’re all… Well, you know what you are. You have mirrors.” Zeke snorts into his drink, and Jasper grins like he’s won a fucking prize.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, standing and swooping her up in one motion. She lands over my shoulder, laughing like this is all a game, when she doesn’t even realize what she’s doing to me.
I feel every curve of her body against mine, and it wrecks me. I want to put her down. I want to never let her go. I want to bury myself inside her and never come up for air, and I want to run as far away as possible so I forget how this ever felt.
I make it to the bedroom, lower her onto the bed, and she immediately melts into the pillows like they’ve been calling her name all night. The Christmas bedding—green and gold, and obnoxiously festive—feels out of place for the kind of thoughts I’m having right now.
“Are you sure you don’t mind me staying?” she mumbles, wiggling her foot at me with a lazy little smile.
I kneel down, pulling off her sock, and immediately regret every decision that led to this moment. Her skin is soft and warm against my fingers, and I’m trying—really fucking trying—not to stare at the perfectly painted lilac polish on her toes. It’s such a small detail, so insignificant, but it’s Addie. She always painted her toes these soft, pastel colors.
“I don’t want it to be weird, and I definitely don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me like you always used to.”
“I’m fine, Addie,” I mutter, tugging off her other sock, and she points at her jeans.
Fuck no. My dick’s already semihard, and there’s no way I’m letting myself see what’s underneath.
“Sleep in them.”
“Roman,” she whines, her eyes still shut. “Sleeping in denim is a fucking crime, and I refuse to commit it.”
“You say the weirdest shit sometimes.”
“You used to love that about me.”
Ignore it.
“Roman?”
“Yeah?”
“Please.”
She’s drunk, I’m weak and clearly a complete fucking idiot.
My hand moves before reason can catch up, finding the button of her jeans. I pop it open, drag the zipper down slow enough to feel every click of metal, then slide the denim down her legs.
Holy shit.
Pink panties.
Soft, barely there lace that’s so thin I can see the outline of her pussy. My heart stutters. My cock throbs, and I want to bury my face between her thighs.
“I’m sorry.”
Don’t. Fucking. Ask.
“What for?”
“Hurting you,” she mumbles as I pull her legs free from her jeans and stand, draping a blanket over her.
She sinks deeper into the bed, her eyes fixed on me like she’s afraid the words won’t count if she doesn’t see me hear them.
“I know I did, and one day… I hope you’ll like me again. Not for the girl who fucked it all up. But for the woman I am now, because I’ve changed, Roman. Not completely, but enough, and I swear I would’ve done everything differently if I could go back.”
Fuck my heart and the way it shatters into a million pieces. “It’s okay, Addie. Just get some sleep.”
